


turn your head (toward the storm that's surely coming along)

by confusedrambler



Series: The Hungry City [11]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Could stand alone, Gen, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Miscommunication, No Sex, One-sided Ra's al Ghul/Tim Drake - Freeform, Other, Tim Drake is a Liar, Tim Drake-centric, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23429197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedrambler/pseuds/confusedrambler
Summary: Ra's al Ghul takes an interest in the newest Robin. The new Robin is interested in Everyone and Everything.They'll take what they can get.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Ra's al Ghul
Series: The Hungry City [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1378894
Comments: 29
Kudos: 310





	1. the straw boss calls

**Author's Note:**

> Story title and chapter title both from Bilgewater by Brown Bird.
> 
> Listen up, ya'll. None of the relationships in this story are intended to be romantic! Please do not interpret them as such. Eventually, the one-sided Ra's/Tim will become more obvious but nothing sexual will happen.
> 
> Edit 4/2: yoooo, change of plans buckos!!! This is now another triptych story. :) :) :) What Would have been Tim's POV got long so we're going to break it into three stories instead of the originally planned two and I'll accelerate the posting schedule for this one. Chapters will be posted on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Hope you enjoy!

When Bruce came home to find a six foot long wooden case covered in a series of too familiar customs stickers sitting on his front door step, his first impulse was to return it to sender without so much as looking at it. His second impulse was to destroy it and send back the broken pieces. He wrestled down that urge, frowning at the package. His last run in with the al Ghuls had occurred less than a month ago and he’d been dreading the inevitable gift from Talia ever since. 

It could be dangerous, he reminded himself. Too dangerous to send back through the mail. He sighed and crouched down to inspect the package. All seemed to be in order-- no obvious traps or hidden compartments-- but the name on the package caught his eye and he blinked in surprise. Rather than the usual “Bruce Wayne,” the label read “R. Wayne III.”

He straightened, glaring at the label. Now that he thought about it, their latest encounter had been Timothy’s first with the al Ghuls. His frown deepened and he tapped the box with his foot experimentally. The wood thunked dully and the case skidded forward a millimeter, not nearly as heavy as it looked. He huffed and stepped over the package to enter the manor, leaving the door ajar.

Alfred was nowhere in sight, but Bruce could hear the distant whine of the industrial sized vacuum and the faint strains of a particularly energetic classical piece. That was fine by Bruce; if Alfred was otherwise occupied, he wouldn’t be able to scold him for being surly or getting his clothes dirty. He shrugged out of his suit coat-- he could spare that, at least-- and rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up to the elbow.

He stepped back outside and picked up the large case with a huff, being as careful as he could to keep it level as he squeezed it and himself back through the entryway. He slammed the door shut behind him with his foot and shuffled down the stairs to the back cave entrance. He shoved it through their x-ray unceremoniously and frowned at the results. It seemed to be some sort of pole arm. He considered opening the case up himself to get a better look at the unusual gift, but decided against it. Timothy was due in the cave in another hour. He could wait that long to investigate further and opening the package would be a learning opportunity for the boy.

He slipped into the locker room and changed out of his work clothes, now marred with streaks of dirt and sawdust, and into a set of dark gray sweats. He threw the dirty clothes into a hamper and padded back out to the cave, idly stretching. His eyes caught on the glass memorial case, as they always did, and the pit behind his navel swelled until it pressed against his throat and ached anew.

He swallowed the hurt down, still too raw to be dealt with, and forced himself to move through a set of stretches that tested the limits of his flexibility. His eyes kept catching at the memorial case and he growled with frustration. As soon as his muscles loosened, he set himself a punishing kata, closing his eyes to lose himself in the flurry of movement and intention. 

It felt good to tackle something that required every ounce of his strength and attention. It seemed he only ever held back these days-- with Alfred, with the League, with  _ Timothy _ . An endless exercise in self-control to prove that he was  _ fine _ , that he didn’t need to be micromanaged by anyone, much less a  _ child _ . His mouth twisted and he growled as he struck out with a vicious snap kick, sending a nearby training dummy flying. 

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, chest heaving and checked the clock. Six thirty-five. He scowled; Timothy was late. No sooner had he thought it than the teenager bolted down the stairs- tie flipped over his shoulder, hair mussed, and eyes bright.

“Sorry, sorry! Couldn’t get away from Mrs. Mac.”

Faint amusement bloomed and he stamped it out.

“Punctuality is crucial, Robin,” he said gruffly. “If you’re going to be a crime fighter, the job has to come first.”

The boy blushed to the tips of his ears.

“First, I know. I’ll do better next time.”

“Get changed. I expect you ready in five.”

Timothy was darting for the locker room before he finished speaking, tugging off his tie as he ran. Bruce shook his head and turned away, stopping short when he caught sight of the case. He’d almost forgotten about it. He grabbed the package and set it on the floor near the mats. He dropped into a tailor’s seat and waited, counting the seconds until Timothy reappeared.

The boy emerged in costume with twenty seconds to spare and took a seat next to Bruce, looking at the wooden case with open curiosity. Bruce tapped it gently with the knuckles of his left hand.

“For you, from the al Ghuls. Remember to check for traps before you open it.”

“Open it.  _ Are _ there traps?”

“That would be telling.”

Robin frowned and scooted towards the box to study it from every angle. He felt along the lid and the seams and tapped the solidly joined planks. Bruce watched impassively, not giving anything away though Robin shot him more than one nervous look. Eventually, Robin pried open the cover and cautiously peeked inside. The boy’s body language slipped from caution to confusion and he pulled out a note. Bruce craned his neck over the boy’s shoulder to see better. 

對於小偵探。 祝您觸手可及。

Unless he was mistaken-- and he could be. He was more familiar with the simplified glyphs than the traditional style-- the note read “For the little detective. May your reach grow.”

Robin cocked his head to the side and looked back at Bruce.

“How did they know I could read this?”

“The League has its ways.” Bruce said dryly. “I imagine Ra’s knows your identity as well. Or will, soon enough.” Bruce nodded at the weapon, polished wood and etched steel. “I’ll test that for poison, but then you can use it if you’d like. It’s a-”

“A guandao.” Robin interrupted. “My sensei has one; he’s demonstrated it a few times, but I’ve never used one. It’s for the more advanced classes.”

Bruce brushed aside his mild annoyance at being interrupted. Robin was always eager to demonstrate what he knew.

“And how long until you earn your next belt?”

“Another month or so? The ceremonies don’t happen very often. Maybe twice a year at his school.”

Bruce nodded, considering. Robin was progressing at a decent pace in his studies, but he didn’t have Dick’s flexibility or-- he faltered for a moment, but forced himself to finish the thought-- or Jason’s natural aptitude for martial arts. He trained Timothy harder than he’d trained his predecessors, but the boy kept coming back for more. If he could take it, Bruce would continue to dish it out. It would only increase the boy’s odds of survival, after all. And if he couldn’t take it, he’d quit playing at being a hero and leave Bruce in peace.

“Then I’ll teach you how to use it. It’s good for conditioning.”

Robin nodded, though Bruce caught the hint of a frown as he looked back down at the note clenched in his hand.

“Do the al Ghuls send every Robin presents?”

“Yes, actually. But it’s usually Talia sending gifts on Ra’s behalf. He sent this himself.” He paused. “You must have impressed him.”

“But how do you know for sure it’s from him?”

Bruce smiled grimly.

“Because Talia always sends poisoned sweets. I wouldn’t worry about it. They always get bored with it sooner or later. Now, it’s time to hit the mats. We have a lot to cover tonight.”


	2. take it from me (i've been there a thousand times)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick gets a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JIC you didn't see the edit to last chapter's a/n, Tim's POV was getting long, so we've decided to split it into a different story. That makes this particular character/story arc 3 works instead of 2, which is fun. As a result, this story will update on Wednesdays and Saturdays. (Would have posted this yesterday but our power went out for a bit.) Hope you enjoy!

Dick tossed his keys up in the air and caught them in his other hand, bounding up the steps as he whistled a jaunty tune. He couldn’t remember the name of the song, but it’d been a favorite of his father’s; the melody often trailed after him when he was feeling good, and tonight he felt on top of the world. He’d had a particularly good patrol today and was looking forward to an equally productive night on the streets. Word on the street said that an important arms deal between two of the largest gangs in town was going down in the warehouse district tonight. He intended to be there to crash the party.

He let himself into his apartment and tugged off his clip-on tie, tossing it and his keys onto the wobbly end table squeezed into the tiny entryway. He slipped off his shoes just inside the door and danced towards the kitchen, shedding layers and tossing them on the floor as he went. By the time he was in front of the fridge, he was down to his undershirt. His skin prickled and he shivered once, grin widening at the invigorating chill.

He switched to humming a bouncy waltz as he searched first the fridge and then the pantry for something to put together for dinner. There wasn’t much in the way of fresh groceries, but there was enough food to last him another day or two before he needed to carve time out of his schedule to make a grocery run. And he was a master of putting odds and ends together to make a meal. He settled on a bowl of peanut noodles with a fried egg and bustled around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients while he waited for the water to boil. He’d just pulled out the eggs and put them on the counter when his phone rang-- a lilting bird call that he’d set as Tim’s ringtone.

He traced back his steps and snatched his jacket off the floor, searching the pockets until he found his cell phone and answered the call.

“Y’ello?”

There was no answer.

“Tim? You there, baby bird?”

A slight intake of breath and a rustling before Tim’s voice came over the line, hesitant.

“Yeah, sorry. I, um, wasn’t sure you’d pick up. Thought you might be busy.”

“Not too busy for you, Timmy.” He sandwiched the phone between his shoulder and his ear, heading back into the kitchen to dump his noodles into the water. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, really. I just wanted to ask…” Tim trailed off. The corners of Dick’s mouth turned down, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Tim held back too much for Dick’s liking.  _ He’d _ never been so reluctant to ask questions when he was Tim’s age. And to hear Alfred talk, Jason hadn’t been shy about it either. It was a habit Dick was looking forward to breaking Tim of.

“You know you can ask me anything, Timbo. I don’t bite.”

“I know. But it’s not really a question, it’s more of a… favor.” Tim paused, then rushed forward. “You know what, nevermind. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have called; I’m sure you’re really busy.”

“You wanted to ask me something, so ask.” He smiled wryly. “Now I’m curious. And the worst I can do is say no.”

“Well,” Tim said haltingly. “I have some escrima sticks now and I thought you might be able to show me a few moves.”

Dick hummed and shifted the phone to his other ear, went through the motions of draining the noodles and tossing them in a bowl with the ingredients for the peanut sauce as he thought.

“Bruce told Jason no when he asked; I’m surprised he let you have them.”

“They’re not exactly from  _ Bruce _ ; Ra’s sent them to me.”

Dick raised an eyebrow and dropped a pat of butter into the empty pot, watching as it melted away.

“Ra’s gave them to you? Man, the only things he ever sent me were assasination attempts.”

Dick dropped an egg into the hot pot and the sizzle of the cooking whites almost drowned out Tim’s nervous chuckle.

“Yeah. Bruce says I impressed him; he calls me Little Detective now.”

“That’s quite the compliment. He only ever called me a meddlesome brat.”

There was a faint click on the other line and Tim’s voice got much clearer, as if he’d taken the phone off speaker mode.

“Is it… weird that he’s so interested in me?”

Dick grunted, caught up in trying to flip his egg without breaking the yolk. He managed a messy three-quarter flip with it intact but when he nudged over the last bit, the yolk burst open and spread out over the bottom of the pan. 

“Damn. Sorry, what was that Tim?”

“Is it weird that Ra’s is sending me things? Bruce said it’s not, but I’ve just got this  _ feeling _ .”

“Nah, it’s not weird at all.” Dick scraped the egg onto his noodles and set the pan in the sink. “I was weirded out by it too at first, but the Al Ghuls send presents to everyone. It’s kind of their  _ thing _ . I think Talia  _ still  _ sends Bruce presents, actually. But the presents for Jason and I mostly stopped after a year or so.” He shrugged as he chopped the egg into his noodles with a fork and stirred the mess together. “I think it’s just a tradition at this point.”

“If you say so.” There was a short pause. “Um. About that escrima lesson?”

“Oh, sure! I almost forgot.” Dick ran through his mental calendar, frowning slightly at how full his days had become. He never realized just how busy he was until he had to add something else to juggle. “Ok, how ‘bout this. I work with the Titans most weekends. You pick a day and I’ll have Wally swing by and bring you to the tower. I can show you some moves and you can meet the rest of the team. Wally will drop you back home before nightfall and Bruce won’t have to know anything about it. Sound good?”

“Good. Sounds good.”

“Cool. Then I’ll talk to you later, baby bird. I’ve got a busy night ahead.”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks again for everything.”

“Anytime, Timmy. Anytime.”


	3. let's go back in time while we can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steph catches up with Tim after her first time as Robin.

Steph swizzled the sucker stick in her mouth and bounded up the stairs, backpack bouncing as she climbed. The stairs creaked under her weight, but she’d long since stopped caring about making noise here. There was no one else to hear but Tim, after all, and the big empty house begged to be filled with  _ something _ . If  _ she  _ lived here, she would blast her radio as loud as she could and throw dance parties every night. Or have karaoke night and sing along to all her favorites. Or scream as loud as she could in every room of the house until she figured out which one had the best acoustics. The possibilities were endless.

Unfortunately, she did  _ not  _ live here; Tim did. And Tim  _ hated  _ loud noises. She made it to the top of the stairs and waited, trying her best not to roll her eyes as he placed his feet  _ just so _ on the stairs so they wouldn’t make a sound.

“Come  _ on _ , Tim! You won’t have time to show me anything before patrol if you don’t hurry up.”

“We’ve got plenty of time,” he said, pace not increasing a bit.

“Maybe you do. I have to catch the bus back into Gotham and the green line takes forever to get anywhere.”

“You could always catch a ride with Batman and me.” Steph gagged and crinkled her nose, skipping to the side as he finally reached the top of the stairs.

“As if. Riding with him was the  _ worst _ . You’re never allowed to go out of town ever again.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” he said mildly. He stepped around her and made his way down the hall with Steph at his heels. 

“Except that it  _ was _ . How do you stand him bossing you around all the time? ‘Robin, don’t touch that. Robin, go home immediately. Robin, you’re fired.’” She scoffed, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “As if he could fire me. I’m a  _ substitute  _ Robin; I do what I want.”

Tim grinned.

“I’ve taught you well, young padawan.” He stopped just outside the door that led to his nest and unlocked the door without looking at it, keys flashing in and out of his pocket so fast that she almost missed it. “Robins never do what Batman says when he’s being stupid about something. And he’s been stupid about a  _ lot  _ since I joined up. But hey, at least he talked to you. My first week as Robin was mostly manly grunts with the occasional  _ no  _ or  _ again  _ for flavor.”

They squeezed into the room with some effort, Steph idly noting that Tim had managed to squirrel away even more gear into the few pockets of empty space that had been here last time she visited. She hopped up onto an antique end table and folded her legs underneath her to give Tim some breathing room, pulling the sucker from her mouth with a pop and waving it for emphasis.

“The  _ worst _ . But enough about  _ him _ . How was Italy? I know you got back like, two weeks ago but we still haven’t had time to catch up and I’m dying to know.”

Tim shuffled past her and made his way to the old wardrobe, tugging open the only drawer that didn’t stick and hauling out some of his newest toys.

“It was fine. Pretty boring, actually. I spent most of it in the hotel doing schoolwork; Mom didn’t want me to fall behind.”

Steph made a face and popped the sucker back in her mouth.

“Gross. You didn’t get to do  _ anything _ ?”

Tim hummed and slid the drawer shut.

“I did go on a few outings with them, but it was mostly business related. Went to the Vatican for mass on Christmas Eve.” 

“I didn’t know you were Catholic.”

“Catholic? I’m not.” He frowned and looked around the room, face brightening when he saw a box stuffed into the space between an old mirror and the armchair it leaned against. “Mom wanted us to go so I could broaden my horizons or something.” He wiggled the box free and plopped it next to the other prizes that took up the weathered coffee table-- the only flat surface that hadn’t been taken up with more old furniture or abandoned art.

“But couldn’t you have done it all at once? My mom lets me do whatever I want once I get all my stuff done.”

“Wouldn’t have worked,” he said idly. “I tried once and they just got me a tutor for Mandarin instead.”

Steph leaned forward, propping her chin on her hands.

“That sucks. This everything that came while you were gone?”

“Yeah. Almost didn’t have time to hide everything before Mom and Dad came in.” He passed her a heavy metal rod, thicker and several inches longer than an escrima. She turned it over in her hands, noting the thin groove in the center of the weapon.

“What’s this called?”

“Here, let me-” he put his hands over hers and twisted both ends of the metal. The rod sprang apart so quickly that she almost dropped it, doubling in size so that it was taller than she was. “It’s a collapsible bo staff.”

“Some warning would have been nice.”

“Sorry.” He took his hands off hers and shifted away from her. She hummed and turned the staff in her hands, careful not to hit it against anything.

“It’s heavy,” she complained. “And super long.”

“It’ll take some getting used to, that’s for sure. I’ve used training staffs before but they were all made of bamboo. This is much heavier. Less flexible, too.” She passed it back to him and he twisted the ends as he slid his hands together, collapsing the staff with some effort.

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that for now. I’m still getting used to the escrima.”

Tim laughed.

“Who says I was offering it to you?”

“Oh, please.” Steph rolled her eyes. “Every time you invite me over to see your new gear, you send me home with something.”

“Not every time.”

“ _ Yes _ , every time. I’m running out of room under my bed, Timmy.”

“So what if I do? I like making sure you’re prepared.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me, boy wonder. C’mon, we’re running out of daylight. What else you got?”

“Let me see,” he turned back to the coffee table, pointing at each item as he came to it. “That’s a knife masquerading as a pen-- um, actually, don’t touch that. It might be poisoned and I haven’t had time to check yet. I’m pretty sure that’s a cartridge of invisible ink for the pen, but I haven’t figured out how to load it yet.  _ That  _ is a manual about surviving extreme conditions in the desert. And this is a box of-- well, candy, actually. You can have as much as you want of that. I tested it all and it hasn’t been tampered with.”

“What, seriously?” she slid off the table and peered into the box, surprised when it really was filled with brightly colored packages of sweets. “Why did Batman send you candy? I thought he had you on some super strict diet.”

“What?” Tim whipped his head around to look at her, incredulous. “Batman didn’t send me this. Batman would  _ never _ .”

“Then who did?” Her eyebrows knit together and she stood straighter in alarm. “Wait a second, why were you worried about it being poisoned if Batman didn’t send it?”

“Batman didn’t send it. He’s--” Tim stopped, closed his mouth. Started again. “It’s sort of complicated, I guess? He’s kind of the leader of a cult.”

“A  _ cult _ ? A wanna-be Jesus is sending you stuff?” She buried her hands in her hair, pushing it back from her face. “Oh my G-d, that’s so messed up.”

“I mean, in the grand scheme of things, it’s really not that big a deal.”

“Timmy, you’ve got some creepy ass man sending presents to your  _ house _ . He knows where you  _ live  _ and he’s sending you candy and shit. This is, like, the definition of a big deal!”

Tim rolled his eyes.

“No, it’s not. It’s been happening forever. They’re just more tests, like Batman gives me.”

“Like,  _ forever  _ forever? Damn. Does Batman know somebody’s trying to get you to drink the kool-aid?”

“Of course he does. Stop trying to make this into something it’s not.”

She frowned.

“I guess if Batman says it’s alright… but I still think it’s super weird.”

Tim snorted.

“Do you want the candy or not?”

“It’s definitely not poisoned or drugged or anything?”

“It’s perfectly fine.”

She glared at the box, tapping her foot on the ground in indecision.

“No,” she said finally. “I don’t take candy from strangers.”

“I know for a fact that you went trick-or-treating last year.”

“I don’t take candy from strangers who run  _ cults _ ,” she said loudly. Paused. “But if you have candy that’s not from a cult man, I’ll take that.”

Tim rolled his eyes and dug around in his pockets.

“I’ve got a piece of gum and extra bus fare.”

“It’ll do.” She swiped the goods from his hand and pressed a kiss against his cheek in the same movement. “See you tonight.” She spun and dashed for the door, tossing a wave over her shoulder. She didn’t hear his response.


	4. a little test of mind over flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman and Robin are fighting. Didn't take an oracle to see that one coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to me! Let's all have a fantastic day, yeah?

Barbara grimaced as she kneaded her thigh, tired eyes darting from screen to screen. There was less than two hours left of Bruce’s scheduled patrol, but she was debating the merits of another cup of coffee. 

Gotham’s streets were quieter than usual- the calm before a storm that Barbara had been trying to get ahead of all week long. She knew something was coming-- they all did. But even Barbara’s most well-connected informants didn’t have a clue what it was. It was maddening. She was Oracle, for G-d’s sake. If anyone should be able to see what was coming, it should be her.

Her system pinged as a communications request came through, pulling her out of her thoughts. She opened a line and flipped on her microphone with one hand, tabbing over to Batman’s live feed with the other. 

“Go ahead, Batman. Reading you loud and clear.” There was a distant flicker of another cape, prompting her to pull up Robin’s feed on a secondary monitor. Sure enough, he was heading away from Batman’s location- already a quarter of a mile off and showing no sign of slowing.

“Oracle. I’m sending Robin in early. Make sure he gets back to base.” He was gruffer than usual, words bitten off in a way that she’d come to read as irritation.

“Copy that.” She puckered her lips, mentally running through the reasons he might send Robin home early again. Most could be sorted into one of two categories-- Robin needed to be sent back for his own safety or B was just being an asshole. “Should I raise Agent A?”

“That’s not necessary. Robin knows his orders. Batman out.”

He cut off communications and Barbara wrinkled her nose, drumming her fingertips against her desk. Definitely just being an asshole, then. She didn’t like the way Bruce handled Robin these days. Mostly, she didn’t like that he ‘handled’ Robin at all. Things were better now than they had been in the beginning, but- Tim was a good kid and didn’t deserve half the shit Bruce gave him. She huffed and backed out of Batman’s feed, bringing Robin’s to her main screen instead. 

She waited until he landed on the next rooftop to ping his line twice- their signal for a private but nonessential communication. He picked up almost immediately, a little breathless from his latest jump.

“What’s up?”

“My blood pressure,” she said dryly. “Bats told me he’s sending you back to the nest.”

“Yeah. I have a few things to take care of.”

She hummed and stretched before leaning back into her chair, watching as he prepped for his next jump.

“This is the third time this week he’s sent you home early.”

“I know.” Robin spoke absently, as if it didn’t have anything to do with him. 

“So?” she prompted. “Aren’t you pissed? I would be.”

“He has his reasons.” She got the sense that he’d shrugged, though the camera couldn’t pick it up. She snorted and crossed her arms.

“You’ve got to be a  _ little  _ upset.”

“Upset? Not really. I was expecting to get sent home again.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Why?” Robin made a noncommittal noise and picked up his pace. 

“I just meant that since it’s been so quiet lately, I didn’t think we’d be out for--” Barbara cut him off before he could get any further.

“Err-err-err!” she blared in his ear as loud as she could, watched as his camera jerked violently when he startled. “Oh, sorry Robin. My bullshit alarm started going crazy.”

“Not funny Oracle.”

“Didn’t say it was. Can’t guarantee it won’t happen again, though. It’s a very delicate piece of machinery.”

“ _ Oracle _ ,” he grumbled.

“Oh come on, Robin. Spill it. I guarantee, whatever it is, I’ve heard worse. Probably from the original boy blunder himself.”

“It’s not important. I just… made some miscalculations, that’s all.”

“About?”

“About school. Mainly. And about B.” Her eyebrow rose higher.

“Must have been some miscalculation to get sent home.”

“I  _ may  _ be failing a class or two. And I might have lied to Bruce about it. I didn’t think he’d actually  _ check _ .”

“You’re failing a class?” She couldn’t hide her surprise, wincing when her voice jumped up an octave. She reigned herself back in, hoping it hadn’t been too obvious through her voice modulator. “Which one?”

“Um… all of them?”

“Robin!”

“I know, I know! I’m just a little behind in my coursework, that’s all. I’ll have it all turned in before final grades are due. I’ve got it under control, honest. I just didn’t think B would actually  _ check _ . My parents only ever care about the final term grade.”

She shook her head in disbelief, already opening a new screen to hack into his school records. It didn’t take long; the security was abysmal. She whistled when she found his current grades.

“You’re failing gym? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“It is when you sleep behind the bleachers every session.” He didn’t sound nearly as upset as she would have been in his position, and his progress hadn’t slowed. He was already well into Sheldon Park and would be swinging down the RK Bridge in short order. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pointer finger tapping as she counted out the beats.

“Okay. Bats is pretty upset about this, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But he hasn’t completely grounded you. How’d you manage that?”

“I talked him around. I’m still on shortened patrols until my report card comes out.” He huffed, shaking his head. “I don’t see why it matters  _ now _ . It’s the middle of the term; progress reports don’t mean anything. And I always finish with straight A’s no matter how bad my progress report looks.”

Barbara grimaced. He didn’t have a single grade above a 50. “Rob, the only way I can see you finishing with straight A’s is if you hack the system and change them yourself. Batman is definitely going to check for that.”

“I don’t have to hack anything!” For the first time all night, Robin sounded genuinely upset. “All I have to do is turn in my missing work and do a few extra credit assignments. I’m telling you, I have it all under control. It’s  _ fine _ . I do this all the time. Why is everyone making such a big deal out of it?”

“Honestly?” She propped her chin on a fist, minimizing his school records to refocus on the live feed. “Probably because we know you’re too smart to flunk out like this.”

“ _ Flunk _ . I’m not going to flunk out of anything.”

“I hear you, Robin. I do. But,” she paused, searching for the right words. “You know school’s important, right?”

“I’m not stupid, Oracle.”

“I know. But there’s a difference between knowing and  _ knowing _ . Grades aren’t the only things that matter. I’m not sure you get that part yet.”

“I  _ do  _ get it. But I already know everything they’re teaching; it’s a waste of time. It’s easier to catch up on sleep while I’m there and turn everything in later. It’s worked fine so far. My parents don’t care what I do as long as I keep bringing home A’s.”

“But that won’t work forever,” she said mildly. “And if you want to take classes that  _ aren’t  _ a waste of time, you have to start proving you know your stuff now. Teachers won’t recommend you for advanced classes if they think you don’t care.”

Robin huffed and dropped down from the bridge. She watched as he landed near the bushes and dug out a small backpack and his favorite skateboard. He traded out his cape for a pullover and started towards the manor. Another minute passed, but he still didn’t say anything. Barbara uncurled her fist, setting her chin in her palm instead.

“You don’t believe me.”

“If I were someone else, you might be right.” He said eventually. “But… it’s been a while since you were in middle school.”

“I’m not  _ that  _ old,” she objected.

“Old enough to forget what subjects I’m supposed to be taking. I’m already  _ in _ the advanced classes.”

She pulled up his records again and reread his schedule, doing the mental math.

“Huh. Well, if it’s still so easy for you, boy genius, why don’t you skip a grade or two?” 

“I’m not allowed. Mom wants me to network with kids my own age.”

“That’s--” Barbara blinked. Recalculated. “Okay. There’s obviously more going on in this situation than I thought there was.” She thought fast, lips pursed. “So, you had everything completely under control. Then Batman found out and was less than pleased with your plan. Now he’s all over you about your performance, threatening to take away Robin, and making things more complicated than you thought.”

“Basically.”

“Then you know what the  _ real  _ problem is. Your definition of things being under control and Batman’s definition of things being under control are two different things.  _ You’re _ concerned about the end result.  _ Batman _ is concerned about the entire process. Even if you do have all A’s on your next report card, if your next progress report isn’t up to par, he might decide that you aren’t taking things seriously enough to stay Robin.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Then all you have to do is keep your grades high enough year round to keep B off your back.”

Robin sighed. “Nothing I do is going to be good enough. Even if I turned in all my work and kept an A all year, he wouldn’t be satisfied. And if I have to stay awake for all my classes, I think my brain might actually melt out my ears.”

“Batman’s an ass, but he’s not unreasonable,” she objected. “As long as the others brought home C’s or better they were allowed to keep patrolling. That’s probably all he wants.”

“No, it’s not. I have to--” he cut himself off with a snort. “Why do you even care?”

“Believe it or not, I have experience with Batman and Robin fighting. And keeping up with the nightlife while getting a degree isn’t as easy as I make it look. I have enough on my plate without trying to tiptoe around until you two make up. I’m just… expediting the process.”

“Yeah, but-” Robin paused long enough to kick his skateboard up in the air, catching it one-handed and starting down the winding footpath that went by one of the entrances to the cave. “We’re not actually fighting. And handling Batman is Robin business. Besides, you just admitted that you’re busy with your own stuff.”

She dropped her hands and leaned back in her chair with a laugh.

“You got me there. But have you considered that I want to help because I like you?”

“Careful, Oracle. You’re going to trip  _ my  _ bullshit alarm.”

“No, really. I think you’re a pretty cool kid.” She grinned. “You’re also a precocious little shit, but nobody’s perfect.”

“Hey!”

“I call it like I see it, Robin.” Her grin faded and she watched as he slipped behind the tangle of ivy that concealed the cave entrance. “But seriously, you’ll try and get back on his good side, right? Batman won’t admit it, but we  _ do  _ need you out there.”

He sighed.

“I know. I’m working on it. Promise.”

“Sounds good.” Her system trilled and an emergency light switched from green to flashing red. Her breath caught. “Hang tight, Rob. I need to check on Bats. Stay on comms; we might have a situation.”

“Copy that.”

As soon as she got the affirmative, Barbara switched over to Batman’s comm line and pulled up his live feed. It looked like B was inside an old building. The camera was cocked at an angle, recording nothing but the joint between ceiling and wall. He wasn’t moving, his vitals had bottomed out, and the recording was dead silent.

Don’t panic, she reminded herself. You’re probably worrying over nothing; you have before.

“Batman. Batman, do you copy?” She counted out thirty seconds. Tried again. “Batman, come in. What’s your status?” She was already rewinding the footage. She caught flickers of another body on screen roughly a minute before the alarm light went off and clenched her fist. She went further back, not pressing play until she found the beginning of the encounter.

The distant rumble of cars and wailing sirens played over her speakers, a backdrop to much closer shouts and muffled breathing. She watched as Batman dropped into an alley, interrupting a pair of would-be muggers. He called out a challenge when he landed, distracting both men and allowing their victim to get away. She grimaced as the fight began. It was hard to stomach the whirling camera views of any fight, much less a quick and dirty back-alley brawl, but looking away could mean missing something crucial.

“Come on, old man” she muttered. “Give me something to work with here.”

_ There.  _ She paused the footage, catching the glint of metal in one of the men’s fist. Something bladed, though she couldn’t tell exactly what it was. She pressed play again and the glint disappeared. Soon after, the camera jerked, Batman’s head snapping sharply to the right as the sound cut out. The microphone in the cowl must have been damaged when he got hit. He appeared to stagger, then straightened and put down the last man standing with a vicious uppercut. She watched as he zip-tied the muggers and disarmed them, frown deepening when she still couldn’t make out what he’d been hit with.

A triumphant beep startled her and she jerked in her chair, staring at the now steady green light on her switchboard. She returned to the live feed with a stroke, clicking her tongue when she saw that his vitals had stabilized. There was still no sound from the feed, but she clutched at her headset, eyebrows furrowed.

“Batman, do you copy? Please respond.”

The camera rocked, then moved- flashes of peeling wallpaper and broken furniture flying by. The feed settled on a pool of black fabric and bent legs, then blurred, as if the camera had been shaken violently.

“Batman, can you hear me? I need a status update.”

The feed stopped moving, then tilted further down, giving Barbara a view of his arms and lower half. He made the ‘OK’ symbol and she sighed.

“Your suit’s glitching again. Can you do something about that? I need to contact Robin, let him know it was a false alarm.”

Another ‘OK’ symbol. By the time Barbara switched back to Robin’s comm line, the video feed had already winked out.

“Oracle? Everything alright?”

“Just peachy,” she sighed. “Bats took a hit in a fight and his equipment malfunctioned again. Gave me a bit of a scare.”

Robin hummed.

“I told him to fix that last week.”

“So did I.” She groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Swear to G-d, one of these days he’s going to give me a heart attack.”

“I know the feeling,” Robin muttered. “But hey- while I’ve got you on the line- I just heard back from one of my informants. Looks like Bane’s finally gotten tired of Black Mask taking out his dealers; word has it he’ll be in Gotham this weekend to deal with the problem himself.”

“ _ What? _ ” she straightened in surprise, slamming a hand against her desktop. “That’s-- I didn’t--” She shook her head, hands flying across her keyboard. “None of my contacts have heard anything about Bane making a move.” she paused. “How trustworthy is this guy? Where does he get his information?”

“I wouldn’t call him  _ trustworthy _ , but his information is usually good. Batman uses him sometimes, but lately he’s preferred talking to me instead.”

“Fair enough,” Barbara huffed. “I think we’d  _ all  _ take you over Bats. Did he give you anything else?”

“Nothing we can use at the moment.”

She hummed and went back to work, setting up her facial recognition software to scan for Bane’s last known location.

“If Bane and Black Mask have a showdown, there’s a good chance Maroni or Falcone will try to seize more of the city while the biggest fish are distracted. We can’t afford a turf war right now.”

“Think it’s time for B to bring out Matches?”

“It’s worth a shot,” she said grimly. “If we get the word out to the right people, Bane might think twice about starting a fight he can’t finish.”

“If he’s not already strung out on Venom.”

“If,” she agreed.

She heard Robin take a deep breath and exhale forcefully.

“Okay. Okay. How can I help?”

“Go to bed,” she said sharply. “If this blows up in our faces, we’re going to need all hands on deck.” She hesitated. “And if you can, pump your contact for more information. The more we know about this, the better chance we have to stop it.”

“I can try, but...”

“ _ Do _ . We’re going to need all the help we can get to pull this off, Robin.”

“Yeah. Of course. I’ll take care of it, you can count on me.” 

“You know I do, Rob.” She smiled, hand hovering over the comm switch. “I’ve got to go. My night just got a lot longer.”

“Copy that. Over and out.”

“Over and out.”


	5. i can hold a grudge like nobody's business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reckoning.

Jason surfaced slowly, careful not to make the slightest ripple as he scanned the cavern. Two cameras monitored the docks, just as the schematics indicated. Something in the back of his skull purred with satisfaction and he ducked back underwater, swimming into another blind spot underneath the jetty before surfacing again. 

He stayed beneath the jetty and crept up the shoreline until there wasn’t enough room for him to stand straight, even if he’d wanted to. He shucked his outer layer of gear as quickly as he could, checking and rechecking the area for any other sign of life or another camera he may have missed. Once he’d rid himself of everything but the respirator looped around his neck and the bag that held the few pieces of equipment he had that couldn’t get wet, he buried the rest in the sand, marking it with a clump of drying seaweed.

Gear hidden, he pulled his half mask up over his nose and retrieved the sequencer from his wet bag. He got to work, slicing through layers of security like a hot knife through butter. It took half the time he’d projected to get control of the cameras and he made a mental note to thank Talia again for the equipment. He flipped through feed after feed until he was satisfied that the cave complex was truly empty. He activated a pre-written segment of code, checked to make sure the camera feeds had begun to loop, and bolted for the hall that should lead directly to the dormitory section.

It felt wrong to be so exposed. His skin crawled and the purring in the back of his skull shifted, a hissing counterpoint to the echoing thump of his boots against the stone floor. He gritted his teeth and ignored it. There was no point sneaking around if there wasn’t anyone else here, after all. Better to get what he came for as quickly as possible and get out before anyone else arrived. 

The hall twisted and doubled back on itself, branching off into other passages at every turn. He kept to the right at every split, trusting that the schematics were correct about this, too. He didn’t slow until he came to the fourth fork, finally catching sight of a door, steel exterior bright against the rust red of the stone walls. Beyond the first door, the hall opened up into a cavern lined with more doors- each identical to the first except for the addition of room numbers. All he had to do now was figure out which of these shitty doors hid the answers he needed.

He hit the keypad for the first room on his left, surprised when it actually slid open. He didn’t have to see the crumpled uniform and mountain of snack wrappers to know that he had the wrong room. No one trained by Bruce, no matter how green, would leave their quarters unlocked.

He tried the next door and the next, moving on as soon as each door slid open without resistance. By the time he’d gone through half the rooms, any ounce of respect he might have had for the fledgling team had drained away. If they were this sloppy, none of them stood a chance out in the field.

He was tempted to save them all the trouble and plant a bomb or three. Really drive home the point. They were stupid enough that they’d probably left some explosives lying around. It would be  _ easy _ . His breath caught in his throat and he shook his head violently, forcing himself to keep searching. He wasn’t here to make a splash-- he was here for reconnaissance. He’d save the dramatics for Gotham-- for Bruce, if what Talia had told him turned out to be true.

There were only three doors left to check when he finally found what he was looking for. This time, a light on the keypad flashed red and a cool automated voice rang out from the speaker, overloud in the silent complex.

“Access denied. Enter passcode.”

He had the sequencer out and ready before the echo died out, hooking it into the keypad and running a safe-cracking protocol with the touch of a button. Within seconds, the keypad flashed green and Jason unhooked the device, tucking it back into his bag as the door slid open.

He didn’t know what he’d expected from the Replacement’s room, but it hadn’t been  _ this _ . The room looked more like a workshop or an armory than anything else. A workstation took up most of the south wall, a table covered with tech in various stages of repair while tools for every imaginable purpose hung on the wall. Another table was shoved against the eastern wall, this one covered with reference books and blueprints, near an armor stand that displayed a variation of the Robin suit and a scattered collection of weapons, from batarangs to a long bamboo staff. Thick textbooks lined a stout bookcase that took up the short section of the far wall that wasn’t closet or a built-in recess that held a computer monitor half-swallowed by a tangle of wires. The only sign that the room was used as an actual living area was the twin sized cot shoved against the remaining wall and a small hamper half-full of stained clothes.

Jason hesitated before stepping into the room, feeling a little like he was treading on someone else’s grave. As cluttered as it was, the room felt sterile. There were few personal touches-- no posters or knick knacks adorned the room and there was no sign that the Replacement did anything at all for fun. Well, he corrected himself with a grimace, nothing but the skateboard leaning against the bookcase. Had Bruce replaced him with some sort of robot?

_ No, _ a voice crooned.  _ Someone better than you. _

Jason scowled and shoved the thought down in favor of beginning his search. He started with the oversized computer, signing in to the emergency profile Bruce built into any pc that could be connected to the Batcave. Without further access codes, only the most recent files accessed by Batman or Robin could be opened-- a redundancy that Bruce had reluctantly agreed to a few months after he’d begun working with the Justice League-- but Jason still had his key memorized. He could get all the answers he needed before he set foot in Gotham. As long as Bruce hadn’t deleted his profile. 

_ But he has. Erased. Forgotten. Replaced. Seek vengeance.  _ A susurration that clamored for his attention, making it harder and harder to think.

“Shut up,” he hissed under his breath, one hand pulling sharply at the single curl that had fallen free of his hood. “Shut  _ up. _ ” The voices quieted, though the litany didn’t stop. It never stopped. He held his breath as he watched the secondary security check spin. It took a full minute, but when his codes finally cleared, he grinned with sharp-edged satisfaction.

The screen filled with file after file that he’d never seen before-- pictures, videos, spreadsheets, and document after document. He didn’t try to sift through the files on his own, instead opening a search box and keying in his parameters-- every file dated within six months of his death that mentioned either Robin or the Joker.

There were only a handful of files that matched his requirements. His eyes caught on the first file and his throat closed, blood chilling. He tried to swallow down the thing that crept up his throat-- laughter, bile, a sob, he couldn’t tell-- and forced himself to open the mission report. He skimmed through it as quickly as he could, eyes skittering away from the few pictures and video attachments until he came to the final paragraph-- laughably short compared to the rest of the report.

_ Robin II DOA. Shelia Haywood DOA. Eyewitnesses report Joker fled the scene in a helicopter heading West minutes before the explosion; no further leads.  _

His eyes caught on the words, stuttering and stopping to reread them over and over again. Something slick and sour squirmed in his gut. He hadn’t known for sure that Shelia had died. A part of him had hoped-- he crushed the thought, sneering. She’d betrayed him. She deserved what she got.

He backed out of the file and opened the next. And the next. And the next. The sour squirming thing grew with every word he read, swelling until it pressed against his throat-- slick and searing and impossible to ignore. He stood and calmly, calmly, put his fist through the monitor.

It shattered and sparked, words frozen on the screen and the squirming thing burst from his throat and he laughed and laughed and laughed as the words played over and over and over again.

_ May 13th. Joker survives a dip in an acid bath and gets sent to Arkham. _

_ June 21st. Joker escapes and paralyzes Barbara Gordon. _

_ July 2nd. Nightwing attacks the Joker. Batman fucking resuscitates him. _

_ August 11th. Timothy Drake gets Batman’s attention. _

_ September 11th. Batman makes Timothy Drake a g-ddamn Robin. _

He was dimly aware that the laughter had turned to shouting somewhere along the way, that he couldn’t tell the difference between the venom spitting from his mouth and the howling dirge ringing in his ears, that the lurid fog clouding his vision couldn’t hide the books he’d ripped apart or the splintered furniture or the electronics that crunched beneath his boots. 

He clawed his way back to control, took the towering, shaking rage and pulled it into himself, collapsing to his knees and crushing his skull between his own hands until the fog began to fade. He pulled down his half-mask and panted for breath, lips cracking and tongue thick in his mouth. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he managed, so hoarse he hardly recognized his own voice. He dropped his arms and let his head fall backwards, staring towards the ceiling without seeing it. He’d wanted to believe that Talia had lied; that there was another explanation for the new Robin and Joker still alive and- and  _ everything _ . But it was even worse than she’d said. He snarled and got to his feet, prowling the room.

_ Betrayed. Replaced. Seek vengeance.  _

The words shuddered through him with the power of a thunder clap and he fell under their weight, hissing as the hand he threw out to catch himself was sliced open by a dagger. He sucked the blood from his palm, glaring at the weapon for an instant before his mouth dropped open in surprise. He snatched the dagger and tilted it in the light. There, etched in the base of the blade, was the League’s mark. He growled and touched his tongue to the metal. He didn’t taste poison, though he could hardly have done anything about it if he had. He nearly threw the dagger down in disgust when a whisper stayed his hand.

_ Betrayed again. _

He stared at the weapon with new eyes, fist clenching tighter around the hilt as he turned the thought over in his mind. Other voices joined in, surging in volume as he took the time to listen.

_ Beware. She betrayed you. She used you. Betrayed, betrayed again. Trust no one. Seek vengeance. _

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and Jason sprang to his feet, leaping across the room and pressing himself against the wall to the left of the door, watching as it slid open and the Replacement walked in, eyes fixed on his phone. Jason seized his chance, lashing out to knock the phone from his hand and grabbing him in a chokehold, ignoring the squawk of surprise. He pressed the dagger against the other’s throat until the tip pierced the skin under his chin, sneering as a trickle of blood ran down the blade to mix with Jason’s own.

“Don’t move,” he growled. “You move and I’ll kill you.”

The Replacement stilled, head tilted away from the blade, hands clutching at the arm threatening to cut off his air supply.

“What do you want?” He spoke quietly in perfect English, untouched by Gotham’s familiar cadences.

“I’m asking the questions,” Jason hissed. “Are you working with the League of Assassins?”

“What makes you think-” He gurgled when Jason tightened his hold, cutting off his airway.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Jason drug the dagger against his skin, the slit lengthening to a shallow gash. “ _ Are you working with the League? _ ” He let up just enough for the Replacement to take a stuttering breath.

”No,” he croaked. “I’m not with the League. I’m Rob-” Jason snarled and shoved him to the floor, aiming a kick at his ribs. The Replacement rolled, narrowly avoiding the kick, and snatched up the nearby practice staff, swinging it wildly in his direction. Jason caught the weapon one-handed, wrenching it out of the other’s grasp and swinging it back around like a hammer.

The staff splintered, cracking up along the shaft with the force of the blow and the Replacement’s eyes popped wide, all the air exploding from his lungs. Jason abandoned the staff and the knife, straddling the other and taking his shirt in a fist, leaning in close to his face.

“You think I’m stupid? I know League gear when I see it.” 

“Gifts,” The Replacement wheezed.

“From who? 

“Ra’s.”

Jason straightened with a harsh laugh.

“Of fucking  _ course.  _ He’s always hated me.”

“Who are you?” The Replacement managed in between hacking coughs. Jason froze, tilting his head as the dull roar in the back of his skull grew louder and louder and louder. A grin distorted his features, razor edged and wild.

“I’m the g-ddamn ghost of Robins passed.”

Shock flitted across the other’s face, but Jason was beyond caring. He hauled the Replacement up by his shirt and put his full force behind his fist, laughing at the dull crunch and spatter of blood. He hit the Replacement again and again and again until his arm was numb and shaking and the other’s face was unrecognizable. He realized that the other had passed out long ago, that blood dripped past swollen lips and burbled with each inhale, so shallow it was hardly there.

He panted, the squirming thing that made its home in the pit of his stomach coming alive again as he regained control. He growled and shoved the feeling down, just as he slammed the Replacement’s body against the floor and got to his feet. He’s learned enough.  _ Done _ enough. It’s time to go. But before he leaves- just to ensure the Replacement gets the message-

He aimed a sharp kick at the other’s ribs, watching as he jerked to consciousness with an aborted moan. Jason leaned down, took him by the chin and forced the Replacement to look him in the eye.

“Consider this your warning. You and Ra’s stay the fuck out of my business. Or I’ll be the last thing you ever see.”


	6. i will not hold it in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big feelings and the little words that mean them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. We are coming up on the end of this installment! I haven't gotten as much done on the next bit as I want due to being Unreasonably Busy with work, so once this is done there will likely be a bit of a gap before "i know what you're running from" (which is the title of the middle of this story arc!) starts getting posted.
> 
> In the meantime, if you're looking for music, we have like 12 playlists for this AU linked in the series notes. And we're working on a few 'snacks' to tide everyone over, so you can look forward to that. [Though, the snacks are mostly bc Feste is still procrastinating the next chapter of a blessing of sorrows. But it's Hard to write Sad Things sometimes, so if you're following that particular story, please try and be patient a while longer, yeah?]
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter! And remember, if you read this as romantic- Don't! :) :) :)

Cass slipped through the window and into the house as if she were just another shadow. The sun was just waking, the dark grey of early morning giving way to deep reds and vibrant orange, and a sliver of light followed her in to fall across the bed and the lump in its center. She stepped out of her boots and pulled off her mask, letting them fall to the floor, as was her custom. Her shoulders sagged and her eyes dragged and she burrowed under the blankets, pressing herself against Tim’s sleep-warm body. He draped an arm around her without waking and went still again, leaving her to trace the planes of his face with her eyes. 

Though they often slept together, it was rare for Tim fall asleep before she did and she drank in the sight of him. His features, usually guarded and thrumming with tension, were slack enough to emphasize the roundness of his face. And despite the dark circles under his eyes- nearly identical to hers, though his were the color of deep water and hers of wet soil- he looked at peace. She sighed and closed her eyes, curling closer to rest her ear against his chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat- not as strong as Bruce’s or as slow and steady as Barbara’s, but comforting just the same. She felt buried-in-sand heavy and she’d hardly gotten comfortable when Tim stiffened and sneezed, reaching up to paw at his face. She wrinkled her nose in displeasure as he continued to move.

“Cass,” he moaned sleepily. “Your hair’s ticklin’ my nose.” She huffed and squirmed farther down his chest, scooping her hair back around her ears. His arm squeezed around her in thanks. “Where you been?” he said through a yawn. 

She wriggled an arm free and held up four fingers, tapping against her chin twice with the side of her hand. 

“Oh, hold on.” He patted her shoulder twice and she rolled away with another quiet huff. She watched impatiently as he sat up and rearranged the pillows into a mound at his back. When he was finished and leaned back, now propped at an incline, she crawled back inside the circle of his arms, pressing her back against his chest as he held her. “That’s better. Ok. Say that again?”

_ Talking,  _ she signed.

“All night?”

_ Yes. _

He hummed and leaned his head against hers, running a hand idly through her hair. She melted into his touch, letting the weights in her bones hold her down and her eyelids drift shut. But as the weights made her sink, the ocean in her chest swelled up, rising higher and higher until it spilled from her eyes. His hand stilled in her hair, then moved to brush the water from her cheek. He breathed her name and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, but the water kept coming.

_ Sad, _ she signed, hands shaking.

“I know. I miss her too.”

She keened and twisted, hiding her face as she clutched at his shirt as if it could save her from the drowning feeling inside. She knew the rolling, tilting sick feeling from when He tricked her into killing, but the all over aching missing-from-me was new. New and too big to express with her tongue or her hands or anything but the endless ocean in her chest. It overtook everything, dulling even the still-sharp anger that lurked beneath it all.

Tim hugged her fiercely, strong as stone against the waves and waves that poured from her. He rocked them both until the ocean calmed and sank back down, just as heavy and endless as it was when she began.

“Any better?”

She shook her head, but pushed away from him all the same, settling into cross-legs. She scrubbed away the last of the saltwater and dropped her hands into her lap, staring at Tim with tired eyes. 

“You should sleep,” he said gently. His shirt was wrinkled and damp, his face sad and sleepy and hurting and kind all at once. She didn’t know how he could feel all those things at once without being swallowed up.

“No.” The word scraped on the way out, scratchy against her throat.  _ Need talk you _ .

He sat straighter, the line between his eyebrows deepening into open worry. “What is it?”

She sighed and chewed at her lip. It was so much and she was so tired of talking but this was important and she needed him to understand. She signed, haltingly, trying her best to fit such big, big things into the tiny words she had. 

_ Sad me. Sad sad angry me. Want Steph. _ Her bottom lip trembled, but she forced herself on.  _ Steph dead. Know this. I go out, see Steph always. Forget. See, touch- no touch. Sad sad angry me.  _ She paused, watched his face.  _ Sick me yes? _

“ _ No _ ,” he said and signed at the same time, snapping his fingers together emphatically. “You’re not sick, Cass. You’re grieving.”

She let her shoulders sag more, felt the water well up again and did her best to gulp it back down.

_ Feel sick. Tired sick sad me. _

“I know. I’m sorry.” He leaned back against the stack of pillows and picked at his blanket, rubbing the fabric between his fingertips. “I feel the same way. Nobody else really,” he stopped, swallowing hard. “They don’t know her like we did. They’re sad, but they don’t  _ get  _ it.”

She nodded, signing her next words much slower.  _ Talk Bruce. Want go away me. New place, no see Steph. No forget. No sad angry me. _

Tim folded his legs up to his chest, sad careful eyes. “Bruce isn’t the best person to ask for help dealing with grief, Cass. He… doesn’t, usually. He’s been working on it, but...” He shook his head. “Leaving Gotham won’t make your feelings go away.”

_ Know this. Need go. Angry you? _

“No. I’m not angry. I’m going to miss you, though.” He reached over and pulled her into a bone-squeezing hug. When he finally pulled away, water leaked from his eyes, too. He sniffed and scrubbed them away. “Sorry.”

_ No sorry. _ She frowned, movements sharp and stern.  _ Love you love me. Family. No forget. _

He smiled, a shaky hiding-from smile. “I know. I won’t forget you either. When do you leave? And where are you going?”

_ Soon. Bruce help. Go C-H-I-N-A. _

He brightened. “My mom had family there. Hey, maybe I can come visit you.” Smile faded again. “If Dad’s okay with it, I mean.”

_ Yes. _ She signed instantly.  _ Yes, yes, yes. _

Tim laughed. “Ok then. I will. And you can always video call me whenever you want to talk. We can even be pen pals if you want.”

She screwed her face up in confusion and mouthed the words, too tired to even attempt to vocalize.

“Pen pals. It’s like…” he paused, searching for the words. “You know how I get boxes sometimes and there’s usually letters and other surprises inside? Those are from Ra’s. He’s kind of like a pen pal. I know you don’t write yet, but if I see something I think you’ll like or something that makes me think of you, I can send it to you. And you can send things to me, too.” 

She hummed, corners of her lips twitching up into a smile.  _ Yes please. Want this. _

“That’s great!” He grabbed his phone from the table by his bed, fingers clicking buttons as fast as Barbara’s, true smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I’ll talk to Bruce and get it all set up. I can help you pack, too. You’ll need more clothes and a way to smuggle your Batgirl gear over. I bet if I-”

_ “No,” _ she said and signed, stopping him in his tracks.

“What?”

_ No Batgirl. _

“I-” he stumbled over the sound, eyes wide. “You’re quitting? Cass, you  _ love  _ being a hero.”

She pursed her lips sourly, signs going sharp again.

_ Tell Barbara go. Angry loud fight. Now no Batgirl.  _

Tim frowned, fingers tapping the side of his phone. “She took away Batgirl? Cass, that’s awful. I can’t imagine- I’m so sorry.”

She snorted.  _ No sad. Not stop me. Bat me, new me. _

“You want a new name? A new suit?”

_ Yes. Bat me, new me. Help you? _

He nodded firmly. “Of course I’ll help. That’s what brothers are for.” He pulled her in close and planted a kiss on her temple. “Don’t worry, Cass. We’re going to make you the best bat-themed superhero  _ ever _ .”


	7. i'll be here when you start sinkin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian Plans.

His family mastered the art of giving gifts long before Damian was born. From the beautifully wrapped silk dresses fit for queens and empresses, to the point of a dagger slipped between ribs, each gift was carefully curated to suit the occasion. So when the day of his birth came and went without even a missive from Grandfather to mark the event, he knew it was no simple slip of the mind.

Though Mother had sent her customary gift-- a resplendent selection of China ink and a small cake of dates-- the absence of the slightest acknowledgement from Grandfather rankled. To add insult to injury, he’d seen Drake flaunting a leather cuff that was surely from Grandfather just this morning. It was impossible not to recognize the intricate embossing, the familiar smell of new Turkish leather.

Damian scowled, burying his face against Titus’s warm side. Had he not done everything that was asked of him? Had he not excelled in his studies? Had he not conducted himself admirably despite Father’s death? Yet the signs were clear. Drake, though a fool, was more highly favored than he in every aspect; so favored that he might soon usurp Damian’s place as heir. Something must be done.

He sat up, rubbing Titus’s ears and pursing his lips as he thought. Father had made it very clear that the rules were different in Gotham. That advancement through elimination was forbidden. But Father was not here. And elimination was the only way to ensure that Grandfather would finally see past this temporary infatuation and recognize Damian as the superior heir. 

Damian snapped his fingers imperiously and pointed at the floor. Titus immediately wriggled off the bed, sitting at attention. Damian scooted to the edge of the mattress and dropped down to the floor. He patted Titus once on the head and stooped to kiss his muzzle.

“Stay, Titus. I will return when my task is complete.”

He stalked out of his room, closing the door behind him as he checked the hall. As suspected, he was alone. Damian smirked with satisfaction and made his way towards Drake’s room. Grayson, in particular, had a nasty habit of showing up when Damian least wanted him, but if he was quick, he could lay the trap before anyone had opportunity to question him.

Damian slipped inside Drake’s room and eased the door shut behind him. He’d had little cause to enter Drake’s room before and expected to find it filled with all manner of filth. Upon surveying the room, he was forced to admit that perhaps, in this single instance, he had misjudged. 

With the exception of his computer desk, Drake’s room was pin-neat. The closet appeared to be organized by color and the rack of shoes by occasion. His bed was made with military precision, though featuring too many pillows in Damian’s opinion, his walls tastefully decorated with various framed photographs of Gotham proper, and his bookcase was filled with an admirable selection of literature- most notably an entire shelf of Eastern works in Farsi and Chinese. Even the desk, though most of it was taken up by stacks of documents with the WE letterhead and an oversized laptop, was not wholly unorganized.

Damian narrowed his eyes and moved to investigate the desk, carefully sliding open each of its drawers. In the bottom drawer he found a box- a package from Grandfather. His lip curled at the contents- clusters of honeyed nuts in wax paper; a handwritten letter, many pages long and encoded; and beneath it all, a ruby pendant the size of his pinky nail, strung on a thong of braided leather- easily hidden under clothes and a perfect match to Drake’s cuff. He snatched up the necklace and pocketed it, plan solidifying.

There were many ways he could rid himself of Drake, but few he could employ would be mistaken as an accident or linked to someone else entirely. If he coated the clasp in poison and put it back, there was little chance anyone would think to look any further than Grandfather himself. And even if Drake survived  _ that  _ attempt, it would make any accident that befell him easier for Grayson to believe. And as Grayson had already shown that he was more than capable of making Damian’s life difficult, it would be best to stay above suspicion. 

He kept a selection of chemicals in his room; it was easy to slip back and mix up an old family recipe that was suitably lethal when it came in contact with the skin. Even easier to slip back into Drake’s room and replace the necklace as he’d found it. All that was left to do was wait.

He was not the most patient of the Al Ghuls, but he hadn’t had nearly as much opportunity to practice. He began to haunt the communal spaces that Drake most often inhabited, watching for the culmination of his plan. He was careful, never touching the other, but making every effort to communicate his displeasure. Something small and hot and hungry made its home in Damian’s chest, growing as he watched Drake’s presence shrink. Soon, it was rare to see him outside of meals. Still, Damian persisted.

A week passed and he was lying in wait in the cave with Titus when his patience was finally rewarded. The elevator, rarely used before patrol, dinged and Drake stumbled out, swaying and sweating. One hand clutching at his heart, he stumbled to the cabinets that held the medical supplies, not registering Damian’s presence. Titus’s ears pricked forward and he whined quietly, taking a step towards Drake. Damian caught him by the collar and signaled him to sit and be silent, fading into the background to watch. The hungry thing- not so small anymore- flared up higher than ever before.

Drake fumbled open cabinet after cabinet, supplies falling from shelves as he searched. Though he was a good distance away, he could hear the desperate wheeze, in time with the rhythmic hitching of Drake’s shoulders. As he knocked the supplies of the last cabinet to the floor, standing on tip-toe to reach the back of the top shelf, the wheezing was interrupted by a ragged cry. Drake seized a fallen bag and ripped it open with his teeth, plunging a hand in and popping something in his mouth. Damian stormed from his hiding place, hunger flashing into outrage.

“What are you doing?” He spoke louder than he meant, the entirety of the cave echoing back his words. Drake spun, black dust smeared across his lips. The sudden movement upset his balance and he leaned against the counter rather than fall, bag slipping from his grasp and spilling charcoal tablets across the cave floor.

“What are you doing,” the other echoed, eyes wide and brilliant blue against skin pale as rice paper. “Damian. I’ve been poisoned. Get help.”

Damian scoffed and swaggered forward, affecting disbelief. “Preposterous! Who would bother poisoning  _ you?”  _ Drake’s hand clutched harder at his heart, fabric of his button-up crumpling in his grasp.

“I- not important now,” he forced out. “Get Dick.”

“I knew it,” he sniffed. “You can’t name the culprit because you know no one cares enough to try. Grow up, Drake.”

“Damian,  _ please _ .” Drake lunged forward and caught him by the edge of his shirt, fingers clumsy. His eyes widened, outrage and surprise and something he wasn’t ready to face warring in his chest as his skin went tight and prickly. He broke Drake’s hold easily and skittered out of reach. 

“You  _ dare _ ,” he screeched- but the words dried up on his tongue. Drake was on his knees, eyes screwed shut and shoulders curled inwards as he gulped at the air. It tugged at something within him and he realized- there were cameras in the cave. If he refused to help now, surely Grayson would know that Damian had a hand in Drake’s demise. 

He whistled sharply for Titus and bounded up the stairs, mind racing. What was he to do? Even without Grayson’s interference, there was a good chance Drake would survive the night thanks to those infernal charcoal tablets. If he  _ did  _ fetch Grayson, the usurper’s survival was assured.He stepped into the study and began to pace, fingers worrying at his bottom lip as Titus followed close at his heel, occasionally bumping his head against Damian’s other hand.

To let him live would go against everything that Grandfather- everything that Mother stood for. But if he did not offer aid and Drake died, Grayson would see the truth and surely cast him out. Mother had commanded him to stay and complete his training. If he failed in so simple a task, why should he expect a place in her home, no matter his accomplishment? It was possible that by attempting to restore his place as Grandfather’s heir he’d unwittingly set himself up to lose both inheritances and fail at the very purpose for his birth.

Perhaps- a thought, born of the unnamed that sat heavy in his chest- perhaps it would not be so bad if Drake lived. Perhaps there was a better way to deal with him. He could remove him from the playing field another way- disable him. Maim him. Exile him. Drake did not  _ have  _ to die.

“Dames?” Damian froze mid-step, whipping his head around to see Grayson wander into the study, mild curiosity flicking to wariness whip quick. “Is something wrong?”

“I-,” Damian couldn’t stop his eyes from darting to the clock and the cave beyond. Wariness deepened into something more, the Batman hardening his jaw. Grayson was at his side in an instant, hand on his shoulder. His eyes bored into Damian’s, as if he saw into his very soul.

“What is it?”

“Drake,” he blurted, back of his neck growing hot. “He is… unwell.” Grayson jerked his hand away, surprise drowning out everything else.

“You’re… worried about Tim?” 

TItus leaned heavily into Damian’s side as he fought to ignore the heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, hands tightening into fists. It seemed the decision had been made. He would have to offer aid to Drake. For now. But surely he could spin this in his favor. “He is being irrational. I believe he may have… done something.”

“Like what?”

“He is delusional. I caught him eating charcoal.” He said stiffly. “He claims to be poisoned, but could not answer as to who could have done it.”

“He’s  _ what _ ?” Grayson grabbed him by the shoulder, Batman’s intensity back in full force. “And you  _ left  _ him? Where is he?”

“He didn’t want  _ me _ .” Damian snapped. Grayson tightened his hold, expression thunderous. Titus growled quietly, showing one tooth as he took a step towards Grayson.

“Damian, you-” Grayson shot a look at the dog and loosened his grip, shaking his head as he nudged Damian to the side. “Never mind. But we’re going to have a  _ talk  _ later.” Grayson opened the clock with a practiced flick of his wrist and shot down the stairs, calling for Drake as he went.

As soon as Grayson’s back was turned, Damian allowed his face to twist up into a snarl and resumed pacing. Titus followed close at his heel, licking at his closed fists. Damian stopped short and knelt, tangling his fingers into Titus’s short fur as he squeezed his eyes shut. The dog whuffled gently, licking at his face and pushing against him hard enough to knock him to his rear. He exhaled sharply and pushed Titus away with one hand, wiping his face clean with the bottom of his shirt. The dog backed away and sat obediently, watching as Damian got to his feet.

It had been stupid to allow Grayson to surprise him so, but there was little he could do about it now. He could reflect on his failings at a later date. For now, if he was careful, he might still be able to sway Grayson to his way of thinking. He hurried through the still open clock and down the stairs. It appeared that Drake had relocated to the Batcomputer. Grayson stood behind him, shaking his head. He strained to make out what Grayson was saying, slowing and softening his footfalls. 

“- no idea what happened?” A pause. “You’ve  _ got  _ to be more careful, Tim.” He was close enough now to hear the rasping of Drake’s voice, though he couldn’t make out what he said. Grayson’s voice went sharp. “If you were paying attention, you’d know how this happened! I know you’re still grieving- we all are- but I can’t have you out on the field in this condition.” 

Damian raised an eyebrow and slowed to a stop, halfway down one of the crosswalks that bridged a crevice. Drake tried to protest, but Grayson cut him off with a sharp gesture, talking over him. “No,  _ you  _ listen. I have enough on my plate right now. I can’t afford to babysit you, too.”

“You don’t have to,” Drake spat, levering himself out of his seat. He swayed, but straightened and pushed past Grayson. “I can take care of myself.” He stalked toward Damian, lips pressed into a thin line and breathing harshly through his nose. Grayson rolled his eyes and followed after him.

“Tim, get back here. The tests haven’t even finished running.”

Drake growled and wheeled to face Grayson. Damian spotted his chance and stuck his foot out, hooking his toe around Drake’s heel and pushing just enough to overbalance him as he spun. The usurper’s eyes went wide and he fell backwards, arms wheeling as he fell towards the crevice. Grayson darted forward and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him back to solid ground.

“ _ Shit _ , Tim! This is the kind of thing I’m talking about!”

“I didn’t-” he stammered, wide eyes flicking to Damian. “He  _ tripped  _ me.” 

Damian curled his lip and took a chance. “Of course I did. And the poisoning is my fault as well. Well done, Drake, you’ve finally found me out.” Drake’s eyes popped wider with indignation.

“ _ You little- _ ” Drake began, but Grayson’s expression darkened and he grabbed Drake’s arm, hauling him further away from Damian.

“ _ Stop _ . You can’t blame everything that happens to you on Damian! And Dami, quit antagonizing him.” Damian clicked his tongue, but said nothing. Drake shook himself free of Grayson’s hold, flags of color high in his cheeks.

“He just confessed to  _ poisoning  _ me. Aren’t you going to  _ do  _ something?”

“Tim,” Grayson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It was obviously a joke. You need to calm down.”

“Calm down. Are you seriously taking his side right now? I could have  _ died _ .”

“It’s a pity you didn’t,” Damian sneered. “Then we wouldn’t be having such an idiotic conversation.”

“ _ Damian _ ,” Grayson snapped. “You’re not helping! Just- go upstairs, okay? I need to talk with Tim. Alone.”

“Alone. No.  _ Fuck  _ that,” Drake’s hands were curled so tightly into fists that they shook. “I’m done talking until you start listening.”

“Tim!”

Drake shook his head and stomped away, giving Damian as wide a berth as he could on the crosswalk. Grayson growled and buried his fingers in his hair, palms pressing against his eyes.

“Tim, I’m serious. We need to talk.”

“Fuck you.” He made it to the elevator without swaying, slamming the button to go up as soon as he entered. He glared at Damian as he waited for the doors to close. Damian met him glare for glare, satisfaction curling to settle in his chest.

It was still too early to declare total victory over Drake. But it was a very good start. And when Drake returned, Damian would be more than ready.


	8. a line i'm crossing that i am never gonna get back from

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dangerous game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All quoted poetry was written by Hafiz.

He was playing a dangerous game. Walking a tightrope without a net. G-d, he’d been scared when he’d first edged out onto the rope- hardly daring to make a move for fear he might fall, constantly needing reassurance that this was right, that it was  _ expected _ . 

He hadn’t understood, at first, why anyone would choose this life. Why his mother had danced the fine line, teasing and beckoning and promising his father- only to slip away and lead him on another chase, the fox and the hound. Why Bruce circled Talia’s delicate web as a mantis stalked a spider, each biding their time, convinced they would outmaneuver the other. Why he traded that steady push and pull for Selina’s unpredictable game of cat and mouse. He understood now.

The presents were pleasant. Most of them were even useful- stepping stones to help him on his way, to be the best Robin he could be. Others served as reminders that someone was thinking of him, watching him, when no one else was. That someone cared enough to remember his favorite type of chocolate. But as nice as they were, if that’s all it had ever been- gifts from another distant benefactor, given to distract from an absence- he would have tried harder to resist.

He knew there was a price for everything- especially gifts. He’d learned that at his mother’s knee. His life had always been a carefully kept tally, fighting to keep at least a zero net sum as he used pieces of himself as bargaining chips- his appearance, his behavior, his academic progress, or most often of all, his words. The cost of Ra’s gifts was negligible in comparison to what he’d given before; Ra’s only wanted him to use the tools he was gifted, to appreciate and marvel at Ra’s knowledge of Tim and all he was. Some of his time and a little of his pride was a more than fair exchange.

But when he’d turned thirteen, Ra’s had changed the rules. The gifts kept coming, but now they were accompanied by letters. The first had been short and simple-- Ra’s claimed it a test of his proficiency with traditional Chinese characters and requested a handwritten reply. It contained little more than a tip about a small-time arms deal that was scheduled that month. 

Tim had been hesitant to bring it up to Bruce-- it could be a trap after all-- and had investigated it himself. As he’d known what he was looking for, it had taken little time to confirm the information. He’d shared what he’d found with Bruce and they’d foiled the deal together. That was the first night that he’d been allowed to stay at the manor long enough to indulge in a large mug of Alfred’s homemade apple cider, served hot with a drizzle of fresh caramel. The warmth of the cider hadn’t quite outshone the warmth of Bruce’s grudging praise, but it had been a near thing. 

When he’d returned home, he’d spent hours carefully crafting a reply to Ra’s. And he’d spent longer than that staring at ink-stained pages, weighing risk against reward and curiosity against good sense. As pragmatic as he was, he’d always enjoyed pushing boundaries. Even if just to see how far they would go before they snapped back and put him in his place. 

Curiosity had won out.

After that first exchange, the letters flew between them, each longer than the last. They spoke of Tim’s training and of his schooling. Of literature older than either of them and scientific advancements so new that the ink of their announcement had scarcely dried. They traded in riddles and codes, Ra’s offering any information Tim wanted, if only he were clever enough to understand. 

He read the letters over and over again, picking them apart and teasing out every scrap of meaning, sucking up every mosel as marrow from the bone until there was nothing of value left. And when he was done with them, he locked them in a box and hid them beneath a floorboard under his bed. They were heady, precious things, those conversations about everything and nothing. The only real opportunity he had to  _ talk  _ in a time when grief still hung heavy after the loss of his mother- when Bruce was still too consumed by the mission, when his father slept like the soon-dead, and Steph and Babs and  _ everyone  _ tried to fold entire conversations into stilted, broken-record phrases that were never true. (I’m so sorry for your loss, you must miss her so much, I’m sure she loved you.)

He craved the stimulation of fencing with pretty words and prettier lies. The attention that filled the ache that had resonated in his chest for years and years- dancing on the edge of a knife and calling it trust. He’d known he was hurtling towards- nothing, maybe. Something, probably.

When Ra’s had shared a line of poetry in the postscript, framed it as an afterthought-  _ I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being _ \- his breath had caught in his throat and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. But he’d refolded the letter and told himself that it was something, maybe. Nothing, probably. And he’d thanked Ra’s for the sentiment.

The next-

_ ( I am full of love tonight / Come look into my eyes, and let’s go off / Sailing, my dear, on a long ocean ride.  _

_ This world will not touch you, / I will keep you snug upon my seat.  _

_ Let’s plot / To make the moon jealous / With a radiance leaping from your cheek. _

_ I will be full of love tonight, / Come look into these ancient eyes! _

_ And let’s go off sailing, my dear, / With our spirits intertwined. _

_ Your body is just an old sandbar / In a speeding hourglass of time. _

_ Love will turn the mouth of sorrow / Right side up. _

_ Let your heart commence its destined / Laughing chime! _

_ Hafiz will be brimful of love tonight, / Why ever be shy? _

_ Come look into the playful eyes of my verse, / They are eternally branded, _

_ Branded with / The Sun!) _

The next was  _ not  _ nothing. 

He’d buried it beneath the others, hands shaking and heart rabbit fast. Spent the night talking himself in circles-- Bruce knew. He had approved of Ra’s interest, encouraged Tim to take advantage of his mentorship, much as Bruce himself had. But now that interest had ripened into Something and surely- 

Bruce had taught him the signs. Had taught him how to help other children in this exact situation. Did he really expect Tim to- to-

He’d gathered himself and run to Bruce, burying himself anew in casework and school and the team and his friends- trading the tightrope for jumping through hoops. And they- everyone- had responded to his enthusiasm in kind. Even Bruce bent all his attention to Tim every chance he got. It was dizzying,  _ intoxicating  _ after going without for so long and the first time Bruce had given Tim a congratulatory hug- an arm looped around his shoulders, thick with muscle and squeezing so hard that his shoulders folded into his spine, a human accordion- his skin sang.

And even though he’d never replied to Ra’s last letter, another arrived a month later. And he’d thought-- what if. What if it was important. What if there was information that he  _ needed _ . And then he’d thought- Bruce encouraged him for a reason. Bruce had taught him the warning signs for a reason. And he was  _ Robin  _ and Robin was  _ more _ . Robin did things other people couldn’t. He put himself on the line to save people all the time and how was this any different? And he’d opened the letter. And he’d written back.

And things had been good. He’d had Bruce and the team and his friends and with all those anchors holding him steady, walking the tightrope had gotten easier and easier until he danced across it, teasing, just like his mother had.

And then he’d lost it all. Steph. Kon. Bart.

Bruce.

Robin.

But he hadn’t  _ actually  _ lost Bruce. Because as many times as he’d seen Bruce fall, he’d always gotten up again. He couldn’t be gone. He was… missing. Tim just had to find him. But the anchors that had once held him steady now threatened to drag him under and he’d cast them off. All that was left now was the tightrope and his conviction.

It had made perfect sense, laid out just so. And it had continued to make sense until he’d found himself standing on Ra’s doorstep ten minutes ago. But now- now he had the distinct feeling that he’d taken up a much more dangerous act. 

This wasn’t balancing on a tightrope. It was sticking his head in the lion’s maw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for the first part of this character arc. Next up for this arc will be 'i know what you're running from.' Unfortunately, I am an Abominably slow writer and it will likely be a while before I'm ready to start posting, Especially since part two kind of morphed into a remix of the first few arcs of the Red Robin comics. 
> 
> There will be a few more short stories posted in The Hungry City that focus on other arcs before i know what you're running from is posted, so I'd suggest subscribing to the 'cry for judas' series if you're just interested in This story line.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
